Walking on His Own Two Feet
by tifaxfinalxheaven
Summary: Colin reflects on the journey of a life he's led up to his teen years. The thoughts he has may be bitter, or sorrowful, but nonetheless they lead him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. One-sided Colin/Mary. Colin-centric.


Ever since the very moment in which he came into the world, Colin Craven got what he wanted. Anything _tangible_, anyway. That was the upside to being born into a privileged family: you could have the finest things money could buy. Even shower yourself with lavish frivolities if you wanted to.

Colin heavily believed that was the source of his problems. Too much spoiling, not enough love. Of course, he had not come up with that solution on his own. It was not a rare event when he overheard his maids chattering amongst themselves, usually complaining about his attitude when not gossiping about each other. It was in these moments that he was most enlightened about himself. More often than not, he was upset by these truths. He would not talk to anyone, unless they be Mary Lennox or Dickon Sowerby. But even then, he was surly and unpleasant.

However, his moods were much improved as compared to before Mary Lennox came to stay at Misselthwaite. The girl was definitely something else. Not only had she changed herself from a pale, sour, and ultimately contrary little brat to a glowing and pleasant miss, but she had healed Colin, too. She, with the help of Dickon and the magically brilliant garden (in some way), had gotten him to walk.

Albeit that was a major feat for the boy everyone in Misselthwaite thought would be a hunchback (if not a cripple), Mary was an antidote for more than his physical ailments. Colin needed someone to match his temper--to stand up to him during his ridiculous fits of ill-temper. Mary was that someone. She had proved it on multiple occasions, the most famous being the time in which the gray-eyed boy threatened to have Dickon thrown out of Misselthwaite. His cousin, needless to say, would not stand for it.

Yes, there was much about Mary that Colin adored. She was so full of life, so vibrant. She was much like the garden herself. It had gone from being dull and dead and purely undesirable to being the exact opposite: extraordinary and … "wick." The blonde girl herself had gone through the same transformation. Colin liked to think he did, too. But, Mary never did anything nor said anything to give him the idea. In fact, she always spent her words praising Dickon and his accomplishments. Never a breath on Colin. Or rather, when she did spare a compliment, it was short and fleeting. Nevertheless, he accepted whatever she offered gratefully.

Money couldn't buy friends.

Colin was all too aware of this, and so he clung to Mary and Dickon feverously.

They were the emotional crutches to an emotionally crippled boy.

Once he had turned twelve, Colin was plagued by rotten notion that he was a nuisance to the pair. Dickon never showed any tiring of the spoiled heir, but that was the kind of boy he was: patient to a fault. Mary, on the other hand, was more like himself, and would sometimes grow visibly annoyed with Colin's presence. Her cheeks would tinge scarlet and her lips would lock in a scowl. Typically, she would calm herself and the three of them would go through the day without conflict. But there was still the occasional incident in which she would rebuke her cousin. At first, Colin would stay and argue for his spot in wherever they were. After a few failed attempts, he just began to up and leave every time he saw the signs of Mary's displeasure, despite Dickon's diplomatic pleadings.

Colin didn't begin to feel true jealousy until a year later.

With hormones beginning to work their magic in all three of the budding youths, it was starting to get difficult for Colin to accept his place in their friendship: the third-wheel. While they went about their regular activities, the blond teen could only watch in silent loathing as Mary and Dickon grew closer to each other and more estranged to him.

Mary was growing more and more lovely with each passing day. Her hair was longer and of a marvelous honey colour. It looked incredibly soft and glossy, so much so that Colin sometimes found himself wanting to test his observations hands-on. She was filling out deliciously, and Colin didn't just mean the way her face grew fatter and curved. In height, she didn't change much. At least, not in comparison to he or Dickon.

The boys were lengthening up considerably. On the tips of her toes, Mary was only as high their shoulders. Dickon didn't look as round in the face anymore as he transitioned into adolescence. The boyish charm was there, yes, but work in the fields and around the home was sculpting the russet-haired teen into someone more masculine. Colin, on the other hand, was still slim. Lanky, even. He did not build much (visible) muscle, but he did put on some weight. The brat wasn't as sickly and frail as he had been. He, for the most part, thanked Mary for that. There was a rosy tint to his plumped cheeks, of which were healthily tanned by the sun. His hair was kept at a medium length, the flaxen tresses gently curling above his eyes.

In his eyes, Colin was a nevertheless attractive boy. So why was it that Mary so obviously preferred Dickon?

Yes, there was the whole "_first cousins_" deal, but they could overlook that little problem, couldn't they? Besides, Colin was wealthy. Colin was handsome. Colin was intelligent. Colin…

_Always_ got what he wanted.

But he couldn't have Mary. No matter how he tried to please her, no matter how much time they would spend together as they ran about the manor, exploring every nook and cranny of the estate after Dickon left for home… Colin was denied the thing he wanted most in his luxurious, empty life.

Mary.

He didn't deny his feelings for the young lady. Colin would marry her, if she would let him. But he doubted the chances of that ever happening, unless Dickon stopped being the _perfect_ little bastard he was and got on Mary's bad side. But even then, Mary would probably still love the simpleton. The thought made the blond's blood boil.

It was so unfair.

Unfair, unfair, _unfair_!

Everything was unfair to the boy. He had lost his mother, been ignored by his cowardly father until his tenth year, and been cheated out of most of his childhood. On top of that, he was in _love_ with his first cousin, whom was head-over-_goddamn_-heels for some dirt-poor worker. If it wasn't his own, he would have laughed at how pathetic of a story it was.

Now, Colin didn't hate Dickon, _per se_. Definitely not. After all, the sweet lad helped him to walk and treated him with undying kindness even when he didn't deserve it. Dickon was his friend.

He just despised the boy Mary loved.

Whose name just happened to be Dickon Sowerby.

There was a guilt that came with holding contempt in your heart for one of your closest friends. However, Colin's jealousy overpowered _that_ tenfold. He often considered trying to challenge Dickon in a vain attempt to win Mary over, but the probability of him winning was slight, if not nonexistent. The Yorkshire boy was more rugged than he was; stronger and enduring. If he truly wanted to, Dickon could probably murder Colin with one hand tied behind his back.

Colin had once pictured a scene in which Mary scrambled over to the victorious Dickon, in tears.

"_Oh, you fool!" _She cried, throwing her arms dramatically around his neck. _"You had me so worried! Goodness, I'm so happy that you aren't hurt!" _

The rust-haired teen just smiled his revoltingly cheery grin and replied, _"Tha' makes me so glad that tha' cares so much for me."_

All the while, Colin lay crumpled on the ground, beaten and bleeding to death. He'd rather _die_ than have to suffer through this torture. It was all too much.

As imaginary Mary leaned in to kiss imaginary Dickon, Colin dismissed the daydream (day-nightmare, more like), withheld some tears, and went about the day in a rather disagreeable mood.

It seemed like Colin Craven would just have to learn to deal with his unrequited feelings. On his own, of course. No doubt it would be a difficult task, especially without his two crutches at his sides. Walking on one's own two feet is hard--Colin all ready knew that first-hand. But with support from friends, it was all the more bearable.

This time he'd do it by himself.

And every second of the way, he'd remind himself of two things:

Money can't buy friends.

And more importantly, money can't buy love.

* * *

**A/N:** _The Secret Garden_ is not mine! But this fanfiction is. I hope you enjoyed it!

As always, review, favorite, etc. if you liked it! Thanks! (:

- _tifaxfinalxheaven_ (Tom-Tom)


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